Words Unread
by Vader's Minion
Summary: HHr. AU. Post Hogwarts. Hermione's engaged and Harry, realizing his feelings too late, drops in on her one night to say goodbye.


**Disclaimer: **Nothing about Harry Potter belongs to me and I'm certainly not paying any bills with this story.

**A/N: **This is a short, and likely one-shot fic, about Harry and Hermione. I'm breaking no new ground here, Harry's been gone for two years, traveling the world and getting a feel for life post-Voldemort. While he is away Hermione gets engaged to Neville Longbottom. This did not turn out exactly how I wanted it to, I see a massive reworking in this piece's future, but that's something only I have to worry about.

**Words Unread**

The drink is what brought me here. To this place on a life's map that every person must travel to at least once. To the brink of disaster, to the edge of reason, to the end. Nothing else could have done it, certainly not my right mind. Somewhere, ignored and forgotten, that part of my brain is screaming in protest, begging me to turn around and go home. To sleep off the effects of the devil's brew and count myself lucky for keeping Hermione's friendship. But that part of my mind has gone ignored for the better part of my life and so I find myself here, the last place on earth I should be.

I've been drinking since this morning. Pouring shot after shot, in some muggle pub I've never heard of, surrounded by people who see my scar and have no idea what it means. I know there are a dozen spells that could accomplish the same goals, some legal and others not, but I wanted it this way. I wanted the fire of whiskey burning down my throat, the muddled reality, and the pain tomorrow will most certainly bring.

I look a mess. I've stepped in no less than six puddles on my way from the pub and my trousers are soaked six inches up my legs. My hair, unkempt on the best of days, is a tangled mass from twisting fingers and pounding rain. I thought of trying to make myself presentable, but I've learned enough to recognize a lost cause when I see one. And I've forgotten my wand anyway, so quick fixes are impossible.

So here I stand, wet and dirty and drunk and not at all like a man come to profess his love should. Perhaps it's for the best because I shouldn't be here and she's not free and I'm no one's dream of a romantic hero. But I'm here anyway.

My hand hovers an inch from her door. A half-curled fist with sweating palms and shaking fingers, it hangs suspended, frozen by indecision and fear. All I have to do is move an inch, just one inch, and I will see her face in the flesh for the first time in two years. A single knock and she'll be in front of me, erasing the years that have passed with one smile.

"_How long will you be gone?"_

"_I don't know." I smile even though her gaze is fixed on some point past my shoulder. "Long enough I suppose."_

"_When are you leaving?"_

"_May, probably, when it starts to get nice out again." I shrug carelessly, as if it doesn't much matter. "I figure that's as good a time as any."_

_Hermione hasn't looked at me since I made the announcement I was leaving. I shift uncomfortably. I know she doesn't want me to leave, I knew it even before I saw her stilted reaction. Right now she's probably formulating arguments to make me change my mind, but I already know they won't work. I need this. To travel, to be anonymous, to experience a life not clouded by the evil that was Voldemort. So I brace myself, ready to let her know in no uncertain terms that there is no other choice for me than this._

_When she finally does look up her face is blank, as if she's purposely keeping her thoughts hidden._

"_You're right," she whispers, "May is as good a time as any."_

It should be so easy. It _is so _easy. A simple snap of the wrist, a rapping of knuckles, and she'll appear. As if I'd summoned her by magic. And I want to knock, I want to do it and see her and feel my mouth stretch into a smile when she finally appears. And I want to see her smile in return, watch her laugh and throw her arms around me and hug me like she used to. The way she did in the days when I didn't notice, when her touch simply was because I was too much of a fool to feel it.

But my hand refuses to move and my legs won't let me leave. So I stand locked in a kind of limbo, both drawn and repelled by the strongest spell I've ever known. And one I'm terrified I'll never be able to break.

I flatten my hand against the painted metal door and lean my weight against it, my need for support just as much physical as emotional. By slow degrees my head falls forward until my forehead is pressed against the smooth surface, the cold a relief to my fevered skin. The fingers of my other hand reach up and brush across the doorknob and for a moment I play with the idea of trying the lock, to see if it's open. If I don't have to knock, if I don't have to wait for her to answer the door and just walk in, maybe I'll be able to do it.

But I won't. Because I'm drunk, because I don't want to invade her privacy, and, most of all, because she may not be alone.

Hermione's been engaged two weeks. For two weeks she's worn Neville Longbottom's ring on her finger and every time I think of it, every time someone mentions it, I want to scream, to hurl curses, to smash my hand into the nearest solid object. But I never do any of those things. Instead I force myself to smile, to be happy, and to hope for Hermione's happiness. Because she deserves it and needs it and if Neville is the one she wants then there is nothing I can do but accept it.

Even half-way around the world I'd known they were dating. Frequent letters from Hermione, written in her neat, serviceable scrawl had told me as much. But I hadn't known they were serious. And I hadn't known how much I didn't want them to be serious until two weeks ago. I read her letter and felt that sick feeling pooling in my stomach, that ache that started somewhere deep inside and crept out along my limbs until I couldn't feel anything else.

"_Neville asked Hermione on a date."_

_My head snaps up._

"_What?"_

"_Ron!" Hermione glares at him from across the Weasley's dinner table._

"_What? Is it supposed to be a secret?" Ron looks wounded and turns to me, waiting for me to pounce on the news. I ignore him and look down the table at Hermione who is blushing and trying to avoid my gaze._

"_I just didn't want the knowledge bandied about," she finally mumbles._

"_Since when is telling Harry bandying something about?" Ron asks with a suitable amount of outrage._

"_When did Neville ask you?" I interrupt their argument to ask quietly, hoping I don't sound as surprised as I feel._

"_Yesterday," Hermione turns toward me but her eyes don't quite meet mine and I have no idea why._

_Ron jumps back in to the conversation, eager to impart his knowledge. "He's taking her to some muggle museum in France. It's supposed to be famous Harry, you probably..."_

"_He's taking you to the Louvre?" I'm impressed in spite of myself. Neville did a little research for this._

_Hermione nods and her face glows with pleasure._

I"m not sure what finally makes me do it. If it's the whiskey, some of that Gryffindor courage they were always talking about, or just a streak of selfishness. Whatever it is, I'm knocking on her door at a little past midnight on a newly minted Tuesday morning.

It takes a few minutes, but finally I hear some shuffling and a muffled voice. I pray she's alone and only muttering curses to herself. I can see it when she looks through the peephole, and I imagine her, wand poised for action, ready to unleash a string of spells if need be. But she must recognize me immediately because the door seems to fling itself open and before I can open my mouth she's in the hall and in my arms, her voice bubbling excitedly in my ear. I rock backward, almost unable to keep my balance beneath the strength of her assault. I can't understand a thing she says, the words coming too fast and close together for my befuddled mind to sort out. But it feels wonderful just to hold her, not because I love her but because she's my friend and I've missed her and because I've always been able to feel how much she cares.

"Harry," she asks when she pulls back, her smile replaced by a look of concern, "have you...have you been drinking?"

"Yes." There's no reason to lie so I don't. But I smile, my foolish mind unable to comprehend that I am flinging myself closer to that edge and dragging Hermione along with me.

Hermione looks speechless. Her face is slack and she looks me up and down for the first time, taking in my haggard appearance.

"Harry..." she shakes her head, "is everything okay?"

I nod.

"Then why..."

"Because I wanted to see you."

The words shock us both. For Hermione because she probably can't understand why I'd need to be drunk to see her and for me because I hadn't planned on being that honest.

"Let's get you inside," she says and I can see that's she's already thinking about the spells she's going to use to sober me up and dry off my clothes. She takes my wrist and tries to lead me into her apartment, but I plant my feet and hold my ground. The resistance breaks her hold.

"Harry?"

"I'm only going to be here a moment.." To emphasize my point I take a step back. Hermione takes two steps toward me.

"Harry, what is going on?"

"I'm...I'm leaving for good and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous." She takes another step toward me and I lift my hands to ward her off. Though she could easily have brushed my hands to the side and grabbed me she doesn't. Instead she stops, confusion emblazoned across her face.

"What are you talking about Harry?" The hint of exasperation in her voice is gone. She's serious now, her eyes locked, unblinking, with mind.

"I'm leaving. Tomorrow I'm taking off and I'm not coming back." My hands have started to shake and I'm not sure if it's from the alcohol or from the effort to keep from touching her. Whatever the cause I shove them into my pockets, clenching them into fists.

"Harry, you're not leaving."

"Yes, I am."

"Harry this is absurd. Come inside and we'll sober you up." Hermione lifts a hand and tries once again to usher me inside her apartment. I glance into the ill-lit front room and wonder briefly if Neville is there. If he's tucked away in the bedroom, unaware his fiancée has gone.

I shake my head. "I know exactly what I'm saying."

"Harry, why are you doing this?"

"Because I realized something, Hermione. I realized that if I can't have it all then I don't want anything. I can't live like that." I'm amazed at how normal my voice sounds, how controlled. I should be terrified, I should be running the other way. But I'm not, I have something I want to say and I will say it because the chance will probably never come again.

She has no clue what I'm talking about. And because she doesn't understand, and maybe because I'm leaving her, she gets angry. The distance between us is gone before I can make a move to keep it there and Hermione jabs a finger in my chest. Any thrills over seeing a long-absent friend are gone.

"Harry, it's after midnight, I've been asleep for hours, and you've turned up at my home drunk and speaking gibberish. I truly am happy to see you but I would have been much happier tomorrow morning. Or if you'd been sober."

My voice may sound sober but my mind is having trouble keeping up. I don't want to say it but I want to explain, to let her know without speaking the actual words. As if that will somehow lessen my betrayal, lessen my selfishness.

I grab the finger poking me in the chest and hold it tight. Her dark eyes are blazing and I flinch, not used to seeing that expression directed at me. But I don't let go of her finger and she doesn't pull away. Perhaps she doesn't want to retreat out of striking distance. Or maybe she wants me to explain, to tell her what I'm finding it so difficult to say.

_My bag is packed and I'm about to head down to the kitchen when Hermione knocks and enters my room. She smiles and looks back over her shoulder, as though worried someone might have followed her._

"_Hi, Harry. Sorry but I just wanted to say goodbye before you were mobbed the Weasleys. I may not be able to get a word in downstairs."_

_She steps fully into the room and closes the door. We stare at each other in silence, neither knowing exactly what to say. Alone with her I'm struck for the first time by a sense of loneliness, and the unpleasant feeling that in my search to be free I'll only find myself alone. But I give myself a mental shake and recount all the reasons why I have to leave._

_Hermione is the one to break the silence._

"_I'll miss you, Harry. I miss you already and I hate that you have to do this but..." She shakes her head and her lips tremble. "Be careful. Take care of yourself and make sure you write and...I hope you find what you're looking for."_

_She hugs me and before I can lift my arms to hug her back she's kissing my cheek and pulling away, her eyes wet with tears that have yet to spill over._

"Hermione...I wanted to tell you that...I wanted to tell you it's like a book, Hermione."

"A book? What's like a book?"

"You're like a book. That's what I'm explaining it to you, that it's like a book."

She's still confused but at least more intrigued than she was a mere moment ago. I brace myself, almost close my eyes, and plunge recklessly ahead.

"I don't read a lot Hermione and I don't always notice things. But there was one book, a book that's been on my shelf for years that I thought I'd read cover to cover."

"Harry..."

"I'd read it so often I was sure I had ever word memorized. Then one day I woke up and realized there were pages, hundreds of pages, I'd never seen before, never even knew existed. But before I could read it again, and I did want to read it again, I lost it. Somehow it got away from me and now the book belongs to someone else, someone who will be able to read those pages and memorize all those words I never got to see. And I can't watch that, Hermione. I can't stand by and watch him read my book and know things I don't. That's why I have to leave Hermione, because someone else has my book."

I don't think I made sense, not even to myself, but somehow Hermione understands. Just like she used to, in the days when all it took was a glance to know we were thinking the same thing.

I wait only a moment. Long enough to see the comprehension widen her eyes, long enough to watch her lips part in surprise and to see her shoulders stiffen. But I don't wait long enough to see the sadness or anger or whatever it is that comes after. Drunk as I am, I am still Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived, and I have more control of my magic than most people do sober, so I apparate. I take a final look at Hermione's face, memorize her eyes and the way her lips part when she's surprised. Then I brand it to my memory and disappear, leaving her to stand alone in an empty hallway.


End file.
